The Slytherin Saviour
by katiephilomena
Summary: When the next generation is faced with the death of their family rock, Harry, they dont know what  to do. Thought Harry has one last wish, to reconect with his estranged son, Slytherin Albus. He dosen't realise thought that this could be his saving grace.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: the ideas upon which this story is based are not mine and are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling**

The Slytherin Saviour

Albus sat under The Sorting Hat. His palms were sweating and the hat sat low over his eyes blocking his view.

_"So you want to be in Gryffindor do you boy?"_

_Yes, yes, yes, please!_

_"For all the wrong reasons."_

_What! Wait, all the wrong reasons?_

Al felt like ripping the hat of his head and screaming at it.

_"You would do well in Slytherin...it's were you belong."_

_No! No! Even Rosie the sure bet to break the family tradition and be in Ravenclaw had managed to get Gryffindor, not even five minutes ago_

_"But you my boy are destined for something a bit more...different. The second son of the Boy-who-lived. The pure ...Raw ambition"_

_Ambition!_

_"To prove yourself of course"_

_No! No! No!_

_"It will have ..."_

_No!_

_"...to be..."_

_NO!_

_"...SLYTHERIN"_

The hall was so quite you could have heard a pin drop.

"No" a faint sound, normally indiscernible in the Great Hall, echoed in the caverns space. All eyes flew to the Gryffindor table and people realised the no's weren't echoes of a shout, but where the result of Rose _'Rosie'_ Weasley muttering them to herself as she stared at her cousin. James, Al's brother, was in shock a few spaces up the table. The sound of everyone turning round to look at the Gryffindor table, bought him out of his trance.

And chaos insured.

James jumped out of his seat and started screaming at al.

"What the hell were you THINKING? I was taking the fucking piss. I didn't mean for you to fucking become a bloody snake!" James arms were waving violently above his head and he was kicking the table in anger. "No brother of mine ..."

James shouting was joined by other members of the Weasley/Potter/Lupin/"Who-ever-granny-Molly-had-adopted-lately" clan

"NO BLOODY WAY"

"Al, tell them it's wrong..."

"It's a joke! It's got to be a joke!"

"Put the hat back on his head!"

"Sort him again"

At this demand from Dominique they all started to call for him to be re-sorted.

"QUIET!" Professor McGonagall, the aged headmistress, stood up from her place at the centre of the staff table.

"This is not the sort of behaviour I expect from Gyffindor's, please control ...MR. POTTER will you stop kicking the table before it kicks you back...yourselves. Albus Potter, you have been sorted into Slytherin. That is final. The hat does not resort; take your seat Mr Potter at your house table, Slytherin."

Mc Gonagall looked towards Albus trembling on the stool as Professor Longbottom lifted the Sorting hat of Al's head. Al flashed his eyes towards one of his father's oldest friends. The look of absolute pity in Neville's eyes switched a button of realisation in Al's head.

"I know you're a Potter" Neville whispered "and that you don't want to be there. It will be hard for you too...but Al...You were sorted in to Slytherin for a reason. The hat see's and knows stuff we will never understand. Please go sit at your house table..."

Al stared for another split second before he nimbly jumped down of the stool and drifting towards the Slytherin table.

"No, NO. I won't let this happen"

"James" Al turned to his brother "Just leave it! Stop making such a bloody scene"

"But Bro..." James collapsed back onto the bench "fine...FINE...but if you're going to sit with those... bloody slimy Slytherin's then...then you're no brother of mine"

Al felt the air change. The electricity between the two brothers sparking. And he lost it. Of all the Potter children Al was the only one with his mothers temper, he was also the only one with his father's patience, making his temper a rarely scene thing.

"SHUT UP JAMES! You have NO right to tell me what to do! So you can take that idea! And SHOVE it!"

"MR. POTTER!"

"WHERE THE SUN DOESN'T BLOODY SHINE!"

Al stopped his rant, panting slightly from the outburst

"Sorry professors. It won't happen again"

And Al sealed his fate by marching to the Slytherin table and throwing his body down on the bench. The hall sat silently through the rest of the sorting. The new house mates of Albus barely making a dent in the boys conscious as he stared down at the golden plates.

"...and enjoy your meal."

Food suddenly appeared on the plates jerking Al out of his thoughts. But that wasn't necessarily a good thing; he could hear the muttering around the hall

"A Slytherin Potter? A Slytherin Potter!"

"What will the Boy-who-lived say?"

"...But isn't he a Weasley!"

"Their always in Gryffindor."

Al ignored them and just dug into his meal, the food melting on his tongue. _He was used to it; he was Harry Potter's son. He could remember when on a trip into muggle London when he was five, James had run into the road, in front of a bus. Dad had managed to save the six year old James but he went ballistic at him. They had been so scared of dad that day, all the veins had stood out on his face and his voice was so loud the whole street had heard. The next day was worse though; a reporter from the Daily Prophet had been following them, and those guys hated dad. He was a Quibbler supporter through and through. The whole front page was taken up by a picture of dad shouting at us while we cowered, and since dad has been refusing to give the Prophet an interview for years they portrayed dad as a nutter, who had shut his emotional damage from the war away from the public, and instead took it out on his children. They had even tried to petition the minister's office to get us taken into care, till Aunty Hermione got hold of it and threw it out. Apparently a petition needs more than four names to count. That really was the start of the decent down the slippery slope for the Prophet. They had become a laughing stock and were facing bankruptcy, till Aunty Luna bought it as part of the expansion of the of the Lovegood Publishing Empire, she need the money to fund her trip to the Amazon to follow leads on the existence of the Crumple-horned snorkack..._

"A disgrace to the family! Dads going to go mental and he's the calm one, mums going to go bloody ballistic..." James voice floated to the Slytherin table. Al paused with his fork half way to his mouth "Your dad always said there was something not quite right with him, didn't he Rosie. Fred, you heard him, Uncle Ron say it, didn't you!"

Al placed his fork with its un-eaten mouthful back on his plate. He dove into his pockets and pulled out a modern muggle fountain pen. His parents had given it to him for his last birthday. It was a one of a kind, inclusive interchangeable nibs and an endless supply of ink that would automatically change colour to suit his needs. Out of his other pocket he dragged an old bit of parchment which he proceeded to doodle on.

"...Gran will defiantly send him a howler..."

Als hand flowed without true mental guidance, the flowing red ink of howlers and Weasley hair dominated the harrowing sketch of impending doom.

"Your handling them rather well,...I think so any way."

"Excuse me?" Al addressed the blond boy whose features could pass for a cherub if they weren't so angular.

"I think your handling them rather well" the boy repeated with a raised eyebrow "It must have taken you a lot of guts to come sit at this table, especially with loud mouth over there going on and on."

"If I had guts I would have been in Gryffindor"

"Well maybe you're just more ambitious than you are brave."

"Excuse me?"

"...You say that rather a lot you know..." Al cast the boy a deathly glare "...Well basically you're the son of the Boy-who-lived..."

"Tell me about it!"

"...I'm trying to!...So son of Potter...you get a lot of people sucking up to you. You're also quite quiet; I've seen more pictures of your siblings in the papers with your dad than you. ..."

"I _hate_ the paps, I hate the pictures too"

"Precisely, and I can see from your sketches, you're good."

"Well...I'm alright I suppose,...in good conditions"

"Trust me your good and you want to be recognised for that, rather than as Potter's son. That's your ambition!"

"And this has to do with Slytherin because..."

"_Uh_..._duh_ It's a primarily Slytherin trait."

"No its not! Slytherin are cunning and sneaky and spiteful and..."

"Yeh! To get what they want!"

"So I'm ambitious, not brave"

"No you're just more ambitious than you are brave. Like 51% ambitious, 49% brave cos you have to be pretty brave to come sit down here"

The boys sat in silence for a while getting a feel for the other as the feast carried on around them

"How the hell do you know all that psycho-crap anyway" Al realised what he had said "_Bollocks..._that came out wrong!"

"It's not really my thing either." The blond's eyes sparkled with hidden mirth. "My mum's a psychologist; it's properly rubbed off on me. ... It is crap isn't it" the two boys started giggling.

"Oh, I'm Albus Potter by the way, but you can call me Al" Al's hand hovered across the deserts.

"I know...I'm Scorpius Malfoy" the blond boy replied as he shook the offered hand.

Both boys' faces carried the first genuine smiles all evening as they considered their new friend.


	2. Chapter 2

Al brushed his paintbrush over the canvas, the midnight blue adding a level of depth and mystery to the water colour picture of the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest. The Giant Squids tentacle popped out of the murky depths in a lazy salute. The sixth year refused the urge to paint this detail in, rather like when he had resisted the urge to paint in the hippogriff and it's baby that had strolled along the edge of the was one of Al's many muggle paintings, even down to the paint. After drifting apart from the family for many years, the sixteen year old Al had cut all ties and had ended up walking around Hyde Park, dragging his trunk behind him.

_He shoved his trunk up to the parks wall, sat on top and rested his head back against the railings._

_"Hey kid, are you hear to sell or what?"_

_Al jumped at the interruption and turned his head. The man looking at him was in his fifties and had his hands tucked into his money belt._

_"Excuse me" Al was in shock (and slightly disturbed but for other reasons). This bloke was talking to him and hadn't even mentioned his dad yet._

_"Well it's obvious you're an artist kid..." He waved his eyes towards Al's trunk which had been painstakingly died in muted browns, greens, greys and blacks. (The summer of third year, when James was being more unbearable than usual). It portrayed an idealised picture of Hogwarts, it even included a thesteral in mid flight, thought he had never seen them himself. "...and well this place is kind of known as being a great source of young talent"_

_"Huh?"_

_"Christ! You really have no idea do you kid. Well basically artists come here and sell their paintings of the railings"_

_"Really?"_

_"Yeh kid. I'm here to shop myself, used to be a trader and moved up market. Got myself a studio, gallery and everything..."_

It had all sort of spiralled from there really. Jon was Al's exclusive muggle agent and it was beneficial for both men. Al used the money to pay for Hogwarts and at the end of each term presented Jon with his latest works. Al's work had made Jon's gallery one of the most exclusive in London, especially when the works of the elusive A.S.P. were on display. Al had even sold some of his paintings through the gallery to family. He had been dropping of his latest work to the studio and popped his head in the gallery to say hi to Jane the receptionist and life saver on many occasions. He had had to make a quick escape when he saw his Uncle Percy come in to pick up a picture, ironically of the fields behind the Burrow. It was times like this Al was glad he had stuck to just his initials. Al had got it out of Jane later that Percy had bought the picture because it reminded him of where he had gotten married, The Burrow! Add the Potter name and the game would have been up for him.

"What's wrong?"

Al snapped out of his thoughts, an action not unusual for the boy's easily distracted artistic side.

"Nothing, just...you know...thinking"

"Merlin Potter! Oh I almost got the highest GPA in the year again, but for ROSE! Seriously I swear that girl has to have a time turner to do that much work ..."

Al let his best friend carry on, complaining about Rose was one of Scorp's favourite past times. Not because they were secretly in love with each other as some idiots tried to say but because they actually really hated each other. Rose felt, that if not for Scorp becoming Al's friend at the feast, Al would have pushed to be resorted (and as a Potter probably would have been) and he would have joined her in Gryffindor. Sadly her views had been joined by some rather harsh words about Scorp's lineage. Well Al was there, (he didn't even know his cousin know those words) and he couldn't really blame Scorp for not liking her after that. She had become rather full of herself and her own self importance and intelligence lately.

"...Al are you listening to me at all or have you decided to live in your head permanently"

Al's eyes refocused on the blond boy. His hair was astray after his rant, this one sign of utter annoyance marring his otherwise perfect appearance.

"Sorry mate, I was just thinking how much bigger the Great Hall will have to be known to accommodate the constant inflation of Rose's ego alongside the rest of the clans inflated heads."

Scorp burst out laughing

"Oh Merlin! That's a good one; I'll have to save that. Anyway we can moan about Rose later I've got something more important to talk to you about first"

"Excuse me?"

"What?"

"I could have sworn you just said something was more important than bitching about someone who is related to me"

"Why are you so into that anyway?"

"You have meet most of my family haven't you?"

"Yeh, most of the school aged ones anyway"

"That's why! But back to what's more important right"

"Oh yeh, right." Well remember when you were round mine in the holiday and you saw that hall of pictures"

"The one where they all creepily look like you. What about it?"

"Well that's kind of like a family tradition"

"It's a family tradition to own a house with a corridor long enough to fit three Hungarian horntails in end to end and still have room to cower ?"

Scorp rolled his eyes at Al's own brand of biting sarcastic humour.

"Not the room you nutter, then again there probably is a tradition about owning a house with so many bloody corridors..."

"Also known as inheriting Malfoy manor"

Scorp groaned

"Anyway I was talking about the pictures..."

"Ahhh..."

"Yeh"

"So it's a family tradition huh..."

"Yeh"

"...to own pictures of your ancient relatives looking constipated."

Scorp pulled his knees up to his chest and started to bang his head against them.

"Merlin! This is difficult enough as it is aaarrrrhhh... I know you hate doing them but...Merlin you are such a...a PRAT sometimes..."

Al turned back to his painting Scorp would finish his rant soon._ He'd run out of breath eventually._ The red faced Scorp rested his head back on his knees.

"Relax mate, I get it. Calm down. You have to get a portrait of yourself done. What's the big deal? You're worried about telling me, the artist, that you're going to have your portrait done...And you're calling me the prat. So who's painting it anyway, I can't see Cissy excepting anything less than the best for her _Pwessus Scorpy Worpy_"

Scorp burst out laughing.

"ME! We all know that Grandmother Cissy is all about her _Darling Albus._"

"DONT CALL ME THAT!"

Scorp's laughter ran out across the lake but he smartly dropped the subject.

The relationship between Al and Cissy had sprung out of nowhere. Draco Malfoy had been furious when a thirteen year old Al had shown up on his door step having run away for the first time. A family dinner at the Burrow had gotten out of hand and he hadn't meant to turn Ron's hair Slytherin colours, but he had lost his temper. Al had refused to go home and Draco had him by the scruff of the neck about to throw him into the floo fire when Cissy had intervened, muttering about a family debt and some people called Siri and the Potter boy. Draco had been forced into letting Al stay overnight; well from about three am anyway, the time might have put Draco in a bad mood as well. Draco eventually calmed down and he had gone round to the frantic Potter's the next day to explain the situation (that Al and Scorp had barricaded themselves in the manors guest wing and were refusing to come out till Al was allowed to spend the rest of the summer there). The boy's obvious friendship and joyous nature around each other had eventually allowed the Malfoy's to relax around Al (and loss the stuffy front) and see him as part of the family. This had resulted in Al learning about Cissy's secret obsession, muggle art. Particularly anything rare and valuable. The Malfoy Villa in the South of France was full of pieces she had collected over the years, more since she had gained control of a large amount of the Malfoy holdings (and profits) on the continent after Lucius' incarceration and death by kiss several years ago. Al had even advised her on what to buy a couple of times, after Cissy had realised he hadn't just an artistic eye but an art appraisal eye.

Al blinked out of his thoughts, _he had to stop doing that,_ and realised Scorp still had his head rested on his knees.

"So" he asked "who's the lucky painter?"

"It wasn't my idea, and I know it's not your thing but Grandmother Cissy insisted. Why have a dog and bark yourself, I think she said..."

"Get to the point mate"

Scorp froze and just blurted it out

"? Willyoudoit?"

"Pardon?"

"...will you do it?"

Al's mind went into overdrive.

_CRAP!_

There was a reason Al didn't paint portraits and this was it. Al was an honest painter, his work was basically a display of all his emotions towards the subject and his mood in that situation, he couldn't hide them. Al didn't paint portraits because he knew he would then have to eventually paint Scorp. Then he wouldn't be hide his feeling for the stunning blond, if he painted him the truth would be out. They wouldn't be locked down behind gates of...

_...It's wrong; he's your best friend..._

_...He doesn't feel the same way..._

_...Look at all the skanky girls after him...he loves it..._

"Please Al; I don't trust anyone else not to make me look constipated"

Scorp tried to lighten the atmosphere but gave up and reverted back to begging

"Please Al. Please!"

Al knew this was it, he had to tell him. Scorp never begged, ever. Al couldn't say no. The question now was when Scorp found out about Al's crush, _ok full blown obsession; _now or when the picture was done. Al washed his brush out and placed it next to his pallet.

"Scorp, I have to talk to you, ...I have to tell you something"

Al turned to his friend, focusing serious green eyes on him. Scorp straightened up and returned the serious gaze.

"You're not going to do it are you."

"What?"

"The picture, you're not going..."

"No! ...I'm going to do the portrait"

Scorp visibly relaxed and he settled back against trunk of the tree offering Al shade.

"Thank Merlin!"

"That's not what I..._wanted? ...no, no..._Needed to talk to you about"

Scorp tensed again at the seriousness of his normally laid back friends tone and attitude.

"Al what is it? Is something wrong ... Are you ill..."

"OH BUGGER IT"

Al grabbed the blonds head and pulled it to his own and poured all his emotion into the kiss. Al broke the contact and with both hands still gripping head, fingers musing the perfect blond locks. The desperate green eyes sought out the blue eyes, the hint of midnight blue in their depths. Shocked, Scorp didn't break eye contact as he raised a pale hand to his bruising lips. As the cold fingers touched the burning skin Scorp looked down in shock at the contact, breaking the spell. Al let go his fingers itching to get back amongst the blond strands. He turned and finding himself surrounded by his art supplies and his exit blocked by Scorp, Al retreated into his childhood escape. He dragged his worn, much used and abused fountain pen out and started to doodle on a spare bit of parchment. The riot of colour displaying his emotional turmoil. Scorp came to his senses at the sound of the scratching nib.

"Al..."

"Albus."

Scorp looked at the best friend he had ever had, his closest ally.

"Al, look at me..."

Scorp grabbed the pen out of Al's hand and chucked it next to the abandoned brushes.

"Al...Please...look at me."

Al started to pick at his tie hanging lose around his neck, picking at the small burn left from a 'friendly' duel in the corridors with James last week.

"OH, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE ALBUS"

Perfectly manicured fingers lent in and ripped the tie from the rough paint splattered hands and used Al's surprise to pull him round to face him. A cocky smile rested on the blonds face.

"_Finally!_" he said, before he grabbed Al and pulled him into a passionate kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry gripped Ginny's hand as she slipped it into his sweating palm.

_How could he have been so stupid? He lived through bloody Voldemort, he was the boy-who-lived. _

_He wasn't even supposed to be there. He had kids now. What was he thinking?_

_...The curse...it had come out of no where..._

_He had been head of department so long he had forgotten Mad-eyes mantra._

_"Constant Vigilance"_

_He should have checked all the corners and cubby holes._

_He knew what the Zambini's were like, they were dark, sneaky, and how could he be so stupid..._

"Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter,"

Harry felt Ginny grip his hand tighter as they looked towards the St. Mungo's healer

"We have been able to identify the curse."

Ginny and Harry looked at each other and back to the healer. Harry felt Ginny grip his hand tighter cutting of the blood supply, her nails biting into the back of his hand. Harry could see it to, the look of pity and sorrow on the healer's face.

"It's bad isn't it?" He didn't know how he managed to keep his voice that steady.

"I am so sorry Mr. Potter, really I am"

Ginny's body started to shake from violent sobs, tears running down her face.

"Is there anything you can do? Anything at all? "Harry looked at the healer who was softly shaking her head "Anything?" Harry pulled Ginny closer to him, into a tight hug. The distraught woman latched onto Harry and he could hear her faint sobs on no. She was saying it like a mantra; if she said it enough then maybe it wouldn't happen.

"There's nothing we can do Mr. Potter. All the books to do with this curse and it counter curse have been lost for years..."

"Books?"

"...Please Mr. Potter...Please don't think about the books. They have been lost for years ...no not years ..._Centuries._ The only knowledge we have of the curses has been handed down within St. Mungo's by word of mouth."

"But..."

"Mr. Potter, the last known copy of the book was owned by Salazar Slytherin and hasn't been seen since he left Hogwarts. All of his books were left to his 'favourite student' but nobody has ever figured out who it is or where they are now."

"So the books are defiantly lost then?"

"Yes"

"So...I'm going to...How long have I got"

"Mr. Potter, I would advise you..."

"JUST ANSWER HIS BLOODY QUESTION, YOU ...YOU...ARGH." After her violent outburst Ginny collapsed, her mascara streaked face burrowing back into Harry's robes.

"Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter. It isn't that simple."

"How long?"

"The curse takes effect 10 days exactly after it's applied"

"So if I hadn't been forced into this physical I would have just dropped...kicked the... passed away on what..."

"Well the curse hit you 3 days ago so we're estimating a week from today"

"So in a week I will just die."

The healer just nodded.

She couldn't find the words to tell their generation's ultimate survivor that this time there was no hope, no way out.

"Could you give us a moment alone please?" The healer just nodded again at Harry's request and with a whispered word of sorry left the room.

"Ginny ... Ginny look at me please"

"Oh Merlin Harry! How are we going to tell the kids?"

"I don't know Gin, I don't know."

They sat there wrapped around each other before Ginny pulled away

"Harry we need to go home. If we've only got a week left then I want to spend it with you and I want it to be happy and at home with our family."

Harry just nodded and stood. He gathered the love of his life to himself and grabbed a handful of flu powder and threw it into the flames.

"Let's go home Gins"

"Grimmauld..."

"No Gins our proper home. I know you want to be there as much as I do now."

Ginny looked adoringly up at Harry and placed her hand on the side of his face and slowly caressed his cheek.

"I love you Harry Potter and I always will."

Harry pulled Ginny into his chest in a smothering embrace and the two stood into the bright green flue flames. Their eyes meeting as the said together.

"The Burrow!"

Later that night Harry sat in a chair by the fire at the burrow. The Weasley clan and affiliates had gathered for a crisis meeting, thought the majority were still in shock. Ron was sitting on the window seat, downing fire whiskey like it was going out of fashion. Every so often, he would cast Harry a desperate look, mutter about how it should have been him and downed another drink. His glass was being constantly refilled by Charlie, who had gone pale under his tan and was taking large swigs from the bottle in-between serving Ron. Hermione had long since disappeared into Arthur's study with a pile of history books and a phone. After she had threatened the healer into giving her Harry file, she had started to ring every book dealer (muggle and magical), which was unsurprisingly quite a few.

Ginny sat in the corner with her arms around a distraught Lily, while the rest of the 'kids' had gone after an irrational James. After finding out he had dashed out of the house and was currently circling Ottery St. Catchpole. The main problem with this was that along with grabbing his top of the range racing broom on his way out, he had also managed to grab a bottle of fire whiskey. The empty bottle had long since fallen to earth but James continued to circle about a mile up, doing about 280 mph. Pushing his _'Phoenix Resurrection' _to its limit. The kids were taking turns to try and talk him down but had had no luck so far.

Harry sniffed the air, _was that burnt treacle?_ He stood up as Arthurs Christmas present started to bleep in the kitchen. Arthur had caught Molly at a weak moment and had used a permanent sticking charm to glue his pride and joy to the wall. The muggle smoke alarm started to blare. Molly sat at the kitchen table surrounded by failed attempts at treacle tart, the relatively easy dish falling beyond her grasp for the first time. Fleur was supposed to be helping but had ended up back in the lounge, tapping through the channels on the wizarding wireless, finally settling on a wailing Celestina Warbeck song. Harry stood in the door way and bit his lip. This had been what he had been trying to avoid when he and Ron had quit the field and became desk auror's. _It's boring but safe ...was safe_. Harry jerked as Arthur brushed past him, picked up a frying pan and smashed the smoke alarm. Harry jumped and made a quick retreat from Molly, who was staring round at the plastic shards and electrics which now decorated her kitchen. Her face turning a startling crimson colour.

Harry wondered back to the chair by the fire, his eyes floating over the numerous family photos on the mantel piece. Cheeky, toothy grins and grubby hands waved at him. White meringues filled whole frames as wedding flowers were thrown. His eyes came to rest on a picture near the back, Christmas. James was flying in and out of the frame on his first proper broom crating flurries of was using numerous pots of glitter and such to decorate her snowman with Ginny. And at the back perched on the steps of 12 Grimmauld Place, a canvas blocking most of his appearance, Albus, as his head pooped out of the side. A cheeky grin on his face and dripping paint brush in hand, the paint already splattered over the fresh snow.

"Harry?" he looked over to Percy. He was cradling an empty shot glass as he leaned against the mantelpiece, "Do you want to talk...no ...do you need to talk to him?"

Harry looked back down at the picture, Al's head popping in and out from behind the canvas.

"Yeh I do" Harry looked up at Percy and lowered his voice "but what if... what if he doesnt want to hear from us?" Percy looked at him over the top of his glasses. "Well you don't know what the Malfoy's have told him and he looked pretty cosy with them last time a saw him."

"Harry trust me on this, he will want to get in touch. I should know."

"Malfoy..."

"What about them, your his dad, and your ... your dying. Harry he would want to know."

"Your right. Your right this has gone on too long already,"

Harry jumped up and dumped the picture on his chair. He moved towards the front door, picking up his clock on the way.

"Harry where are you going?"

"I have to talk to him, Ginny I need to talk to him"

"Who?"

Harry turned back to the door at the weak voice. He moved towards the door and propped up James other side. The fire whiskey had finally hit in and he had had a close encounter with the front pond. The boy was soaked through, but he had sobered up.

"Albus, James. I need to see him."

At that statement the family looked at him

"Dad, go but tell him...tell him we...we miss him ok."

He looked around at the nodding heads.

"Bring him home, please Har. Bring him home." Ginny smiled at him and turned to her mum as Molly was trying to remember whether Al liked roast chicken or turkey or if she should just do both.

"Mum seriously do both"


End file.
